


Legal, But Not Socially Acceptable

by West_Coast_Moper



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Abusive Parents, Age Difference, Age Swap, Angst, Attempt at Humor, Cop AU, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mention of indecent exposure, Mention of sexual acts, Mentions of Physical Assault, Mentions of Sexual Assault, Starts off short, Strangers to Friends, There's no band, alternative universe, future smut, incoming fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-26 12:41:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6239797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/West_Coast_Moper/pseuds/West_Coast_Moper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last thing Patrick needed was some pesky teen to watch over at one o'clock in the morning while the rest of his co-workers slacked off to only god knows where.</p>
<p>He definitely didn't want the chance at some odd relationship with the boy either.</p>
<p>Who cares if the kid is 18, and legal?</p>
<p>Who cares?</p>
<p>Random idea of mine: In which Pete is a trouble maker and Patrick is a cop who has to deal with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Injustice

**Author's Note:**

> I have no knowledge of an actual job in the law - this is only an idea of mine that I decided to write. I have more ideas for upcoming chapters if I do not slack off too much. But if you know anything about me...Well. Anyway I know a lot of this shit is gonna be incorrect or odd, but aren't we all here for the chance of smut and amusement/fluff?
> 
> Pls don't judge me too harshly. Enjoy~

Patrick sat with his legs up, feet comfortably laid astray over his desk. Eyes stern and narrowed, his mouth set into a firm line as agitated whiskey brown eyes bore straight back at him. The resounding tick-tock bellowing from the wall clock overwhelming his eardrums as he raised a singular brow at the teen opposite of him. That same teen huffed a harsh breath, his chest heaving as he was seemingly more irritated than prior.

 

"This is bullshit," he growled in a hushed tone, muffled against the bars of the cell his fingers were loosely coiled around. Patrick shrugged lazily in reply, a bored look on his face to match his current mood. "Don't do the crime if-" He said, starting the repetitive cliche everyone hears. The boy promptly cut him off with a glare and a hiss of "I didn't do shit!"

 

Arching another brow, Patrick gradually slid his legs from his desk, plopping them down on the hard concrete floor. Turning to his computer, he took to his keyboard to skim through his records. Holding back a snort from the name on the screen, he glanced back at the teen. "You assaulted-"

 

The boy immediately slumped, stilling Patrick's words. The stiff lining of his shoulders fell, while his eyebrows furrowed and his nose crinkled. "Let's get one thing straight - that asshole didn't know the simple rule of 'hands off,'" he spat in rage. "You expect me to just stand by idly and let some wrinkled grape feel me up? No thanks."

 

"Oh? So you're claiming it was self defense against sexual har-" Patrick's cut off once again, which was really beginning to get on his nerves. He was at least attempting to talk to this kid. He wasn't obligated to. "I'm saying that old raisin should be behind these bars! Not me!"

 

Patrick couldn't help but feel amused from the so-called insults referred to the older man in question. A chuckle slipped from his lips and from the annoyed expression on the younger boy's face he wasn't too pleased by that. "So you find this funny? I'm glad you're so entertained - aren't you guys supposed to be all about justice or some shit?"

 

Well when Patrick was a young kid at first he thought that - it was why he wanted to become a cop at all to be honest. He heaved a gentle sigh, biting his bottom lip he said "Look I would love to help and do 'justice' or whatever, but unless you have a witness I can't."

 

"There were tons of people there! Can't you just - " Patrick immediately lifted his hand, quieting the boy as he shook his head with a frown. "Peter I'm sorry, but -"

 

With an irked groan leaving the teen. "It's Pete." he muttered, his eyes dipping down to the floor before crossing his arms.

 

"What's wrong with Peter?" Patrick found himself asking, he wasn't specifically aiming to offend and piss this kid off even more so than he already was. Surprisingly Pete answered with ease. "My dad's name is Peter - we're not exactly the best of buds."

 

"Well you had no problem making him your one phone call," Patrick said, tilting his head with a grin. "Who'd you expect me to call? My grandma? Don't patronize me."

 

" _This dude's got sass,_ " Patrick thought with a smirk. Putting his hands up in surrender he attempted to mollify the boy. "Calm down kid, I'm not trying to piss anyone off - m'only asking questions."

 

"Kid? I'm eighteen. I can vote and shit - besides you're one to talk. What are you? Twelve?"

 

"I hardly think a twelve year old would be qualified enough to be a cop," Patrick quipped, pressing his lips together, he tapped his fingers against the top of his desk in an miffed manner. "Ah, yes, an officer of the law - I bet the twelve year old would do better." Okay, wow - rude.

 

"Brutal - I'm twenty three for your information," is all Patrick responded with, not the least bit offended by the sudden jab directed at him.

 

"Oh." A few seconds of silence pass by before he's asked a question. "So what's being a cop like anyway?"

 

"Long hours, boring people - like computers basically, but at least we have donuts," He joked, leaning forward with his chin rested upon the palm of his hand.

 

"I knew that stereotype was true," Pete gasped, his eyes widened, and filled with amusement.

 

"They all stem from somewhere," Patrick smiled, raking a hand through his hair.

 

The tick of the clock remained to be heard through the once again quiet room with the lack of voices to occupy it. Patrick kicked his legs up to his desk again, maneuvering himself into a more suited position and fell back into his chair.

 

With pursed lips Pete murmured softly "You're not...so bad."

 

"Oh? What ever gave you the idea that I was 'bad?' I'm probably the best person you're ever gonna meet-" Pete snorted at this, eyeing him up before he bowed his head. "Well the 'greatest person ever' what's your name?"

 

"Patrick. Patrick Stump."

 

"Nice to meetcha, officer Stump."

 

Patrick had an odd feeling in his stomach - like this wouldn't be the last time he'd be meeting this trouble-making pesky teenager.

 

 


	2. A Risk of Regret or a Chance at Something More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once Patrick made it to his desk it took him all but three seconds to notice the boy sat in the cell opposite from him. Familiar kohl laced brown eyes and flat ironed hair came into view The first words out of his mouth were "Oh you gotta be kidding me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know where this story is going, buT JESUS TAKE THE WHEEL.
> 
> I'm having fun with this though.
> 
> Warning for a bit of dark humor I guess. Not too bad, I think.

Patrick took sluggish strides as he shuffled through the parking lot of his department for his night shift. Mouth creeping over the opening to the lid of his coffee in a cautious attempt to sip the broiling liquid as he glanced at his phone within his other hand. Weaving through cars and empty spaces he met the door and swung it open after shoving his phone back into his pocket.

 

The place is reserved, quiet, almost empty excusing the few people scattering through who _actually_  do some work around here. Patrick blew a gust of air at a strand of hair sticking out of his cap dangling in front of his face as he passed by towers of files overflowing with paperwork. Shaking his head at the disorganized environment he continued on.

 

Once Patrick made it to his desk it took him all but three seconds to notice the boy sat in the cell opposite from him. Familiar kohl laced brown eyes and flat ironed hair came into view. The first words out of his mouth were "Oh you gotta be kidding me."

 

Pete's mouth dropped open, but Patrick swiftly cut him off with "Are you going to plead innocence again? 'Cause last time you weren't so innocent, I mean sneaking into a bar - "

 

"It's not like I drank - and okay I'm not _exactly_ innocent, but - um, uh," Pete stammered his way through an explanation as Patrick cocked his hip and arched a brow at him. "I'm listening," he sighed, planting his behind on the corner of his desk.

 

Pete huffed a breath, looking frustrated for a brief moment before he crossed his arms over his chest tightly and mumbled out "I got arrested 'cause some douche bag thought I was a - " The last word came out muffled that Patrick couldn't recognize or distinguish from the rest. "What was that?"

 

"A prostitute," Pete said, glaring at the dusty bricks beside him. Words bold and strong yet Patrick faltered and choked on the coffee he foolishly went for while Pete was speaking. "Excuse me? I'm gonna need - look I need more than just... _that_."

 

"It was also indecent exposure - and lewd acts," Pete hissed that last part in a whisper like he was embarrassed himself. Patrick had a feeling that he was more so humiliated from the fact that he was caught than he was from the act itself.

 

Before Patrick can put in a word - probably the likes of _oh my god_ , Pete went on by saying "I was with some dude behind a club - doesn't matter you get the gist." Patrick's brows furrowed in confusion as he laid his coffee down. "Ignoring the _club_ _part_ , where is he then?" Pete immediately glared, and his frown deepened into a glower. "He fucking ran - like a little bitch, I swear to god - last time I blow _him_."

 

Patrick once again choked - not on coffee this time, but his own saliva. Closing his eyes he hacked up whatever was stuck in his throat besides the rock forming from listening to the younger boy's story. "A bit more information than I needed to hear, but thank you."

 

Pete has the decency to look bashful as he threw a shame brimming smile. "Sorry," his smile then fell into a thin line as his eyes darkened from golden brown to ashy black. "I'm just worried about how I'm gonna explain this...to my dad - he doesn't, he - "

 

"I get it," Patrick nodded, biting his lip. He found himself feeling sorry for the young man. He remembered the dread of telling his mom he wasn't exactly straight. He batted for both teams - well the ones he liked. He's pan-sexual, simple, yet not at all. Luckily for him his mom didn't have a heart attack - she expected it even. He never really gave many signs of being attracted to either sex growing up. You could say he was a late bloomer. Don't get him wrong though, he's dated people before. Not a ton, but some.

 

"God I don't know what I'm gonna do," Pete shook his head, turning his gaze to Patrick. The cop felt himself shocked by the tears filling up within the boy's eyes, pushing and threatening to ooze down his cheeks. "He's not my biggest fan - you know that though..." Patrick was well aware, watching the man himself stomp in and grab the boy by the nape of his neck in anger definitely educated him in that area.

 

"Look don't freak out," Patrick stumbled over his words, clearly at a loss of what to say. "Have you already called your dad?" Pete shook his head, surprising Patrick. "You mean - y-you haven't...?"

 

"No, they said they were waiting for you," Pete let a small smile filter through his crestfallen state as he said "Officer Stump - was kinda looking forward to seeing you again. It's been a while." Patrick felt his cheeks warm up, flushing a dark crimson. "It's only been a month," he muttered, a shy grin on his face as he ducked his head. He quickly realized just what he was doing before he mentally slapped himself and cleared his throat. "I might be able to help you..."

 

Pete's eyes widen, and he sat up straight. "You can? I mean - I really don't want to trouble you more and - u-uh," he heaved a big exhale as Patrick tilted his head in wonder. This boy really was sweetheart - in a way...besides the fact that he's been here more than once. He's a kid Patrick understood that. Kids make mistakes. He made more than he can even count and he's usually an introvert.

 

"I - maybe..." Patrick has money saved up...He could pay the bail, put in a good word. Help the kid get off with small penalties. "Fuck - okay, you need to promise me - _promise me_ \- I'm not gonna see you here again." He had no clue as to why he was even doing this. He didn't even know the damned boy. "I promise - _thank you_ , I swear I'll be good...As good as I _can_ be."

 

A few of Patrick's coworkers already told him he was too nice, he formerly thought that was a ridiculous notion. He totally got it now. "Don't make me regret this - alright?" He had a feeling he was going to. "Y'know you're gonna have to mention this sooner or later to him, right?

 

"Or I could just escape my parents by running away to a college farthest away from them and this shit-hole of a town." Patrick snorted at this, grinning at the boy he spoke softly in reply. "It's not that easy - what about the holidays? your mom's homemade turkey gone to waste?"

 

"It won't - besides fuck the holidays I don't want to have to deal with my aunt flashing the bible in my face every five seconds - and honestly I really am sick of praying to god over a slice of fruit cake sturdier than my parent's marriage."

 

Patrick can't hold back the bellow of a laugh bubbling up in the back of his throat as he slapped a hand to his knee. Hard and loud. A wide and brilliant smile overwhelming his reddened cheeks.

 

Maybe he won't regret this.

 

"Well, don't worry...Guess I'll be the body guard in front of your VIP closet from now on," Patrick joked, crossing his leg over the other as Pete sent a playful glare in response. "Aren't you hilarious."

 

"I try, I really do," Patrick nodded, his voice a mix of false sincerity and laughter tied up within his velvety tone. Pete grunted his annoyance, scowling only just as he grumbled out the words "You're such a dick."

 

"It's in the job requirements."

 

"Clearly."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was on a sugar high when I wrote this (still am) I hope it's not shit lmao.


	3. These Not so Secret Admirers Have it Bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Patrick had decided to help the kid out all he thought of it was a good deed. Like throwing a coin into a wishing well...in a way. All he truly expected was positive karma and nothing else - it's as simple as that.
> 
>  
> 
> A piece of cake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might trigger happy/sad emotions just sayin'

 

When Patrick had decided to help the kid out all he thought of it was a good deed. Like throwing a coin into a wishing well...in a way. All he truly expected was positive karma and nothing else - it's as simple as that.

 

A piece of cake.

 

The last thing he expected was the boy himself to show up during his shifts hand in hand with donuts, coffee, every stereotypical cop treat you could imagine. Patrick was fairly surprised at first, eyes widened and mouth open in shock.

 

Patrick had said "I thought I told you I didn't- " right before he was rudely cut off by the boy with a flick of his wrist and a roll of his eyes.

 

Pete set the coffee down on Patrick's desk. The only noise that could be heard be the swishing of the coffee in the minuscule paper cup as he had pranced off, back held straight, nose pointed up high in the air, and with a pep in his step he was gone.

 

It continued ever since - every Friday Patrick crossed the parking lot with careful steps, hesitant - he was looking, searching for the boy...Sometimes he caught glimpses of a striped up sweatshirt. Colors red and black - maybe purple thrown in to the loop. Too tight jeans, ripped up and frayed. Dirty converse with dark smudges of gravel and other mysterious stains Patrick decided he'd rather he'd not ponder over.

 

Patrick found himself too interested, far too observant. He'd scrutinize every detail to a T. His co-workers - his friends, were wondering just who this kid was. Still were even. They'd ask him, but he'd only force a terse chuckle and shrug his shoulders in response.

 

Gabe, one of his closest friends would nudge him with a grin, would tell him he had a secret admirer. Patrick of course would deny this, wrap his arms narrow around his middle all the while shaking his head. Saying that was ridiculous. Not only profoundly inappropriate, but either way he isn't looking - trying for that.

 

His friends would take him out regularly - try to get him in the mood. Find someone, get to know them - take them home, maybe. What ever would happen. Patrick went, sure. He talked, yeah. Nobody ever interested him. He'd say there was something wrong with him. Nothing met his eye and really sparked a cord.

 

Patrick doubted he really sparked anyone else's cord either. He didn't go all out with his looks. He wore band tees, baggy jeans and denim jackets. Sheathed his head in trucker caps and knit caps. It's what he enjoyed, felt comfortable in. Of course he wore his uniform when necessary. He never used his title as a form of pickup. He understood it, people enjoyed a man in uniform - doesn't mean he'll ever try it.

 

But then in complete honesty Patrick had a hard time denying anything when he felt the warmth of his cheeks, his neck flushing a light shade of pink as his eyes met the heart shaped cookie placed neatly in front of a tall cup of espresso.

 

"Fuck," he had muttered, noticing the looks Gabe had thrown him from across the room. He flipped said man directing wiggling eyebrows at him the bird before he slumped down into his rigid chair, wiggling slightly as he scooted forward.

 

"This is not at all what I signed up for," Patrick sighed, taking what he'd call a scandalous gulp of the scalding liquid. Wincing when it splashed the back of his throat, but relishing in the flavor. He rubbed at his neck, frowned deeply and his eyelids fluttered shut before he muffled the words "Today's gonna be a long day," through the palm of his hand as he yawned, big, and loud.

 

***

 

Every Friday, every Friday, every Friday...and then not at all. Patrick tilted his head and blinked at the lack of clutter upon his desk. Nothing, nothing at all. _Empty._ He mentally shook his head. Perhaps the boy had considered his debt finally paid - it didn't really matter. At least Patrick told himself that.

 

So he ground his teeth and sat hard in his chair. Told himself it was fine - not to worry. Not to do anything. Concerning himself with this boy was not his job - well his job...was to protect the innocent, but not like this.

 

Not at all like this.

 

***

 

After a day of paranoia lurking up atop of Patrick's shoulder. Telling himself something happened, _something bad_ \- he's got a churning in his stomach, a pounding in his head. He stood up, ignored the pain in his lower abdomen and went on through the double doors to the parking lot.

 

Patrick seemed to be finding himself surprised more than ever these past few months when he's ambushed by a tear faced young boy stood right in front of him. In front of his car He stared, and stared, and stared some more. Before the sound of a sniffle shot straight through him. He finally spoke, soft and gentle. "...Pete?"

 

Pete's head was down - eyes dipped to the concrete. His chest was heaving, with harsh breaths racking through him every few moments and all Patrick could do was watch before he placed a delicate hand to the younger boy's shoulder. He definitely wasn't anticipating the kid to directly flinch away from his touch.

 

Patrick jerked back, stuck his arms to his sides and bit his lip. "Pete?" He tried again, eyeing the boy with a crook in his neck. Pete finally glanced upwards, looked him straight in the eye, and that's when Patrick noticed with a sudden dread filling his chest. A great, big, and harrowing mark bruising almost half of the boy's entire face.

 

Before Patrick could ask how - why - _when?_ Pete spoke. Words oddly low - strangely smooth. "C-could we - could we talk?" Tone so hopeful, the cop was already nodding his head as the second word was mumbled.

 

He felt as if his good karma had been erased instantly from how miserable the state the young teen was in.

 

With a deep inhale, Patrick had a horrible feeling he already knew just what had happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Started cute and now we're here at the esCLATION OF FANFICS.
> 
>  
> 
> P.S. Still don't know where it's going and Jesus wants no part in it so I'm on my own here.


	4. There's a Place Here in My Heart If You're in Dire Need of a Little Safety

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for 0 to 100 real quick/no joke.
> 
>  
> 
> Longer chapter, whoops.

  
Patrick sucked in a large breath, back against the fridge before he cautiously peeked around the corner and zeroed in on the teen sat stiffly on his couch, legs crossed and fingers curled loosely into the dark fabric of his somewhat torn sweatshirt. His hood was up, over his head that was thrown back, his eyes closed and his mouth set into a thin line.

 

The cop gulped, hadn't thought this through - after he told Pete that he had no issue speaking, or being spoken to, the boy had asked him if they could move to somewhere more private, while glancing around the concrete surrounding them with a bitten lip.

 

Patrick being Patrick had jerked his head up and down, had asked if his apartment would be a better choice. Pete gave him a wide-eyed look at that, but nodded all the same and answered with "That would be fine - perfect, even."

 

Patrick had swung open the car door, gestured a hand to the seat, smiling a kind smile at the younger man. Pete gave him a side look while settling himself into the vehicle, the cop had ignored it.

 

"In a police car, again," Pete had mumbled, chewing on the nail of his thumb. At that Patrick snorted, but given his current situation he was silent throughout the rest of the car ride. He'd say it was awkward, nice, but awkward. The teen had given him odd looks that seemed to last an eternity, an intense stare that gave Patrick chills down the back of his spine more times than he could count.

 

So he found himself in his kitchen, kettle on the stove, and his foot in his mouth. He had immediately asked if Pete would like a cup of tea - to calm his nerves and not even waiting for a reply, he had stumbled into his kitchen in a panicked state.

 

His eyes moved automatically to the rise and fall of Pete's chest, the boy's hands in his lap and his toes coiled and dug into the polyester of the sofa, a dark shade of burgundy Patrick had decided on. The shrill cry of the kettle sent a jump through Patrick and before the teen could catch him in the act of only innocent gazing he flung himself over to the stove to remove the kettle.

 

His head shot up at the sound of foot steps, turning he saw Pete stood there, eyes in motion, stirring from the tiled floor to the marbled counter tops all the way to the half full jar of cookies. "Nice place," he commented, quirking a small grin at Patrick.

 

"Thanks," the older said in reply, a blank expression molded onto his face to conceal the anxious feeling collecting in the pit of his stomach. Striving to begin small talk Patrick spun back to his task and stammered out "Um - uh, would you like some sugar? - honey? - I have - "

 

Pete gave a low laugh, already shaking his head. "No, thank you." Patrick nodded, ignoring the sweat beading at his hairline, threatening to drip down his forehead. He didn't know why he was so nervous. Not to clue as to why his tongue felt dry and his throat itchy. He knew the small talk wasn't necessary - he's here to hear Pete out...whatever he wanted to say - whatever he wanted Patrick to say.

 

As quiet as a mouse, Patrick filled the mug full of tea - jiggled his thigh while biting his lip. As he was doing this Pete sat himself down on a stool perched by the blotched counter. Patrick's gaze lingered downwards onto the murky liquid steaming from the cup for a drawn out moment. Words clawing at his throat - burning, yearning to escape.

 

"What happened? To your eye?" He said it. He said it. _He said it_. Did he even want to know? He was afraid of the answer. Terrified that he knew the words lounging on the tip of the boy's tongue. He shouldn't be - after all the teen was troublesome, gotten himself into a tight situation - a little horse play - maybe it was an accident? He's only riling himself up over nothing. It's fine.

 

_Pete's fine._

 

All through his thoughts - his attempts to reassure himself, Pete cleared his throat. "That's...part of the reason why I came to you - I'm sorry." Patrick's jaw tensed at that. "Don't apologize - there's nothing to be sorry for." The words slipped out of him without a second thought.

 

Pete gifted him with a soft smile before continuing. "I just needed to get away, y'know - talk to someone who wasn't...my dad, or mom - or any of my friends." Bending his index and middle finger on both hands at the word "Friends." Patrick cocked an eyebrow in question.

 

"If you hadn't noticed I'm not the best teenager of the century - neither are any of my ' _f_ _riends'_ ' - they're not exactly who I'd choose to go to in a time of need," Pete muttered, answering the unsaid question as he leaned onto an elbow propped up atop of the counter. "And I am?"

 

Pete shrugged, a small chuckle left him as he murmured "You're a cop aren't you? Justice and all that." Patrick rolled his eyes at the deliberate quote and replied with "I buy all my clothes from there." Braying laughter invaded Patrick's eardrums once again and he cracked a smile - he liked the sound. It comforted him, told him everything wasn't as bad as he assumed.

 

Pete sighed, mood suddenly deteriorating as he repeated a glance at the cookie jar a few feet away from him. "Word gets around, y'know? People talk - especially about me...My dad is...kind of important? At least he thinks he is with that massive ego of his," he said, a growl rumbling in his chest along with his voice. Patrick shuffled over at a snail's pace, mug in hand while Pete scowled at the small black kitten twisted around the jar's lid.

 

"We're connected. People talk about me...people talk about him - I've used that to my advantage for years, but seems I've gone too far -" Pete's voice sounded strangely choked up - unsteady as his body was jittery. " - and fuck, _fuck_  - it's all my fault."

 

Pete inhaled a wet-sounding breath, rubbed his hands together while Patrick stood there unsure what to do besides listen. "That asshole - the one I...y'know with, he fucking - he came onto me and of course I told him to fuck off...well, seems he had a bigger mouth than me," the teen hissed out as he took the cup of broiling tea from Patrick's hands with trembling fingertips.

 

"My dad found out," was the last thing that left his lips. Patrick was stunned to say the least. "D-did he...?" Pete's awry nod made the gruesome feeling in his body flourish, bloom straight into rage. With a gritted jaw - so firm Patrick feared his teeth would crack, he spoke with a hard voice. "Pete...I should - I _need_  to report this."

 

"No! - I - Patrick," His name sounded helpless on the boy's tongue - spent and terrified. "I know what he did was wrong, and I - I - he's my father, Patrick." The older man is torn, unsure of what do - _this is his job._ "Pete I can't just - "

 

"This was the first time," Pete breathed heavily into the mug, weak and weary, steam clouding his face. His judgement. "It won't happen again - I just - it'll be okay. _I'll be okay._ " Patrick found it hard not to snap at the boy - tell him that was absurd - that his father was a danger to him and everyone around him. Just the memory of the man - wrenching Pete, hauling him through the door made Patrick's vision go red, but...he looked so small - the younger man.

 

The hem of his sleeves had fallen down to his knuckles, the hood of his sweatshirt had sunken down to his shoulders, revealing bristly black hair. The effulgent lighting of the kitchen illuminating the nasty bruise shrouding half of his face - the mark of his father's fist. Just that thought made Patrick fume, his fingernails dug into the palms of his hands as he stood there.

 

"Pete..." Pete peered up at him with sad eyes, tea long forgotten as his bottom lip shook. Patrick's arms wrapped around the teen without hesitation. He could feel Pete's hands grappling onto his shoulders as the boy let out a dry sob. "You - you  _can't_ stay with him," Patrick told Pete in a low voice, combing his fingers through dark choppy strands.

 

"I-I don't have anywhere else to g-go - Patrick I'm _eighteen_ , I-I'm still in high school for fuck's sake," Pete spat, smothering the words into the cop's shoulder. Then it hit him - Pete could - he could - "You could stay with me." Did Patrick really just say that? - he only wanted to help, Pete shouldn't have to deal with this, and it's not...it's not forever.

 

" _What?_ " Pete choked out, pulling back slightly. His eyes were large - full of shock. Patrick would be surprised if his own weren't mirroring that exact same expression. "Do you go around asking troubled teens to live with you - or is this just a first time thing?"

 

"Ha ha, very funny, but I'm serious...There's no joke here, alright?" Pete continued to stare at him with furrowed brows, squinted eyes and complexion as pale as a sheet. "Just...think about it, okay?"

 

Gradually Pete fell back into cop's embrace, eyes fluttering shut as his breathing slowed. "Okay." Patrick's hand rubbed faintly at Pete's back in soothing circles, cheek pressed softly against the side of the boy's head before he grumbled out "Weren't you griping at me earlier about this - justice and all that?"

 

Patrick only squeezed Pete tighter when the teen punched him weakly in the shoulder. "Shut up."

 

"I won't."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to make this good, and unsure whether I'm overdoing it or not...so...


	5. I've Reconsidered Your Notion and I'm Thinking...Maybe...Perhaps...Possibly...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick stood there - at his front door for a couple of seconds, minutes? He didn't know. His gaze had been locked on the slow swing of the wooden door gradually closing shut. The click had rung through his ears, vehemently and thundering - made him twitch, but only just.

Patrick eyed his monitor with wide eyes, chewing on the nail of his thumb with a pinch in his brow. It had been...a few days, give or take. No word received back from Pete - the days...they passed by achingly slow. First one, then two, then it had already been a week.

 

He couldn't help but feel concerned for the teen - what if his father had lost control? - what if Pete had gotten himself into trouble again? - what if he was in the hospital - what if - Patrick, stop, he told himself as he shook his head. He was overreacting - _again._

 

He had already freaked out once, right after Pete had left his apartment. Patrick had comforted the boy for over half an hour. Ran his fingers gently through the other's rigid tufts of hair, chin hooked over his shoulder while listening to harsh breaths streaming from the younger man's mouth. Their goodbye was...awkward, stilled, and hushed.

 

Patrick had offered to drive the boy home, but Pete had declined - said he'd rather walk - had said "See you," in a hoarse whisper, like his throat was too dry, too frail to voice it. Patrick forced a smile in reply, nodded, and brought his hand in an odd gesture constituting as a petty wave.

 

Patrick was sure his eyes had given him away, squinted, and concern sparkling deep within them. Pete's stare was fixated on him for a stretched out moment before he bit his lip, hand clenched around the doorknob as he took his leave into the dimly lit hallway.

 

Patrick stood there - at his front door for a couple of seconds, minutes? He didn't know. His gaze had been locked on the slow swing of the wooden door gradually closing shut. The click had rung through his ears, vehemently and thundering - made him twitch, but only just.

 

He remembered the beat of his heart booming against his rib-cage, the intensity of it all making his head ache. Holding in a great intake of breath, he had calmly spun around. Waddled into his living room with inept steps, plopped down onto the plush seating of his couch and turned on his television, aiming to take his mind off things. The attempt was inefficient, but he's a stubborn man.

 

That's always been one of his immense flaws - besides the whole "too nice," quirk. From his own experience, them together is a dangerous duo. Never mind the fact that he hadn't ever let those thoughts put a stop to him and his "gracious deeds." Truth be told he used to think he was somewhat of an intelligent man, not so much after he offered and handed over his home on a silver platter to the teenager without a second thought.

 

With a gentle sigh, Patrick laid his head out, atop of his desk, backside huddled deep into his chair as he swung his feet back and forth. The sound of rubber drumming against concrete gathered his attention, carefully tugging out the earbuds buried well into his ears, he glanced up. "Gabe," he acknowledged with a nod. Gabe had cocked a hip, hand rested on the narrow of his waist as he raised an eyebrow. "Why so down in the dumps? You look like someone just punched your dog."

 

A dry snort left Patrick from the irony of it all. "It's shot, and just - my week has been shit." Gabe shrugged, crossing his arms. "Tomato, tomato," he muttered, fingertips tapping against the clear-cut bone of his elbow. "Y'know your week probably wouldn't of been so shitty...if you went out with us last night..."

 

Patrick's eyes were rolling before his brain could even register the action. "I was busy," he breathed, turning his view back to the glare of his desktop and his hands to mashing his keyboard. "Besides...it was a work day."

 

He clamped his jaw shut at the scoff that left the taller man's mouth, his forehead wrinkling in irritation. "Y'see this is your problem, so obsessed with doing a good job - being the perfect little citizen and all that...Travie missed you - "

 

"Travie can screw off," Patrick interrupted, scowling he murmured "Probably found someone else to comfort his deep, deep sorrow filled grief." Gabe shook his head up and down blandly, the corners of his mouth lifting up into a smirk. "Indeed, so...how about toni - "

 

"No," Patrick said, monotone, his expression blank, yet serious all at once. Gabe slumped at that, but the other cop knew it wasn't in defeat. "C'mon - there's this new - " A hefty huff left Patrick's lips as he twisted in his chair to face the other man. "I said no, and I have plans."

 

"Doing what?" Patrick didn't even bother thinking of an explanation - there wasn't enough time, nor enough thoughts in his brain to fuel a lie. Gabe tsked, clucking the tip of his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "You're such a spoilsport."

 

"Yeah, I'm just a wet-fucking-blanket, aren't I? Seriously Gabe I'd rather use tonight to catch up on sleep instead of watching you and Travie hump what ever has a pulse on the dance floor." Patrick felt his muscles tense at the burn of Gabe's stare - he was being scrutinized, evaluated, like Gabe was checking for scratches - cracks.

 

"You've been acting...strange - holy shit! Wait have you been..." Patrick hastily fled backwards, his nails dug deep into the leather fabric of the chair beneath him when Gabe lurched forward. His words a hiss of astonishment in the form of warm breath against the shorter man's face. " _Committed?_ Have you been having an every-night-stand behind my back? That's fucked up dude."

 

 _For the love of god,_ Patrick thought to himself, eyes fluttering shut. He could use this to his advantage...but he knew in the end it would all blow up in his face. Before he could even put a stop to Gabe's wild imagination, the man was already spouting out more nonsense. "It's that guy isn't it? Your precious little admirer?"

 

Patrick's mouth dropped open slightly, eyes bugged and only a slight cracking noise managed to escape his throat as Gabe continued on. "Y'know I haven't seen him around lately...Must be too busy in your sheets, huh?" Patrick has a line. Sure it's feeble, but still, it's his, and Gabe just crossed it.

 

"He's fucking eighteen, Gabe - Jesus Christ!" Patrick squawked, grabbing onto the arms of his seat, flabbergasted. Gabe paused, veering his head to the side. "Well...I mean...technically he's legal," he put in, tapping his index fingers together, all the while testing Patrick's patience.

 

"You should go...go far away. Don't come back, either."

 

"C'mon Patri - "

 

" _Goodbye, Gabe._ "

 

  
***

 

After a long hard day of deflecting Gabe's pathetic efforts to take him out, Patrick was once again sat on his couch with the television on and a bag of crisps in hand. Relishing in the fact that he finally got the satisfaction of a cushioned seat and a momentary vacation from work, he reclined, maneuvering himself into a more laid back position.

 

A knock on his door sent a jolt through him, in a flash he was sat up, rising from the couch. His brows furrowed, muttering to himself beneath his breath "If this is you Gabe, I swear to god." Squishing his toes into the plush carpet residing underneath his feet, he lazily padded throughout his living room all the way over to the front door.

 

Stood on the tips of his toes, Patrick glanced through the peep hole. Frowning, he couldn't see a thing besides the somber yellow of the hallway's lighting. Strange, he mused, before he unlocked his door, bit by bit - leisurely and a tad sluggish. After all if it turned out to be Gabe, he wasn't exactly in a hurry.

 

Wrenching the door open, Patrick expected to find Gabe, his irritating yet in a way endearing close-ish friend. He found... _Pete?_ Pete poised at his doorway, housed in an orange and black sweatshirt. Hood up, obscuring the majority of his features, but Patrick could still see his mouth...His _busted_ lip.

 

Feeling his insides twist painfully, he opened his mouth and croaked out "Pete, I - you - " Pete snorted, the noise sounding so foreign to Patrick's ears even after only just a week. He swallowed thickly, and in addition to his prior attempt, tried at using words again. "Your - "

 

"I know what you're thinking," Pete said, interrupting him while his lips curved into a grin. The wince of pain resulting from said action not going unnoticed by Patrick's observant nature, he frowned. The teen sniffed, wrinkling his nose in annoyance as he shrugged the strap of his backpack rested on his shoulder up somewhat, he continued with "I'm looking fantastic." The sound of his voice even more so crippled than the last time Patrick had seen him.

 

Only a few seconds had gone by of Patrick gazing at the boy, but it felt like an eternity. Pete shifted from one foot to the other, an uncomfortable expression molded onto his face. Clearing his throat he began with "I hope you don't mind me interrupting this stare down, but I've reconsidered and...if it's still on the table..."

 

Patrick's breath caught in his throat, as Pete's stare dipped down to the floor forged of wood. His cheeks appeared to be a sickly pale, and his eyes practically black holes. The older man himself felt ill at the sight. He could easily see through the nonchalant exterior - all he saw truly was a young boy scared out of his wits, joined together with trembling fingers and toes to match.

 

Cautiously Patrick placed a hand on the boy's arm, faltering at the slight shudder the teen gave his frown deepened into a glower. Even after badgering himself about how suggesting Pete live with him wasn't exactly his most rational thought he could have came up with during that situation, he nodded his head. "It never left."

 

The faint smile on Pete's face made the words worth being said.

 

"That's...that's good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm feeling a bit proud of this chapter so far, but that'll probably change, lmao. 
> 
> <3 Thanks to everyone enjoying this fic so far. You guys are amazing!


	6. A Development and Another Complication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay. It was okay - Totally peachy in fact. Patrick was getting a handle of things.

Okay. It was okay - Totally peachy in fact. Patrick was getting a handle of things. Pete was sat on the recliner just a few feet distant from Patrick as he stood stiffly in front of his sofa. Arms positioned behind his back, with one hand laid over the wrist opposite of his other. As he rocked back on the heels of his feet, Pete's eyes peered up at him, meek, but pleasant. A sheer purple still evident on a petite fraction of his complexion.

 

Patrick felt it tug at the strings of his heart, ensuing his stomach to squirm unpleasantly from the anxiety pumping deep within his veins. Could feel the skin of his forearms tingle, hairs stood on end while his muscles clenched and goosebumps rose.

 

He pondered over whether or not his brain had shriveled up and vanished when the boy had given him a placid grin, affable and somewhat jubilant, as he walked through the doorway and into the cop's quaint and whist flat.

 

In short order the teen had made himself at home. Removing his sweatshirt, and revealing a black tee while presenting lean and toned arms, before settling them out on display. He had tied it firm around his waist and then plopped himself down upon the chair, bending his knees and folding them together to lay sloppily atop of each other.

 

His bag had been laid astray, forgotten by the low glass table arranged neatly in front of the television that was currently shut off. The reserved atmosphere had began to perch on Patrick nerves, he felt tongue-tied, funnily enough. So standing up straight, he opened his mouth, striving for a cool and composed voice, unfortunately he sprung into a ramble instead.

 

"Would you like some tea? Maybe a blanket? Or I can get you a fresh set of clothes - Food! Food? Have you ea- " Luckily Pete put a stop to his babbling with a raised palm. Chuckling softly, he said "Patrick...chill out - I know I didn't bring much, but I brought clothes."

 

"Oh," Patrick mumbled, a light dust of pink littering his cheeks. "Right, right." Pete snorted, situating his arms to lounge behind the nape of his neck. The teen bit at his bottom lip, the twitch of pain that swept his entire body directly portraying instant regret. The older man knew what had happened. Gritting his jaw, he wanted an explanation, further details - to know what had went down precisely.

 

It seemed this boy could read his mind with only a swift skim of the eye. "There was an argument," he started off concise, voice small in stature compared to before. "Not between my father and I - no, him and my mother...he blamed her." If Patrick had been tongue-tied earlier, there was no way to explain in words how he felt now. It was ineffable. The cat had wrestled his tongue buried deep within his mouth and had skittered miles far, far away.

 

"Of course I walked in - it wasn't exactly on purpose," with a wobbly sigh, and lowered eyelids, Pete went on. "Tried to defuse it. You can see how well that went," a dry laugh escaped him as he aimed a crooked finger at the blemish marring his mouth.

 

Patrick's brow creased at that, his nose crinkled while he chewed at the inside of his cheek. "I'm sorry," even he thought that to be a shitty response, but Christ he couldn't help the guilt clouding at his mind, sinking and niggling. The sense of blame rooting itself well within his brain.

 

"Why apologize? It's not like it's your fault," Pete shrugged, lips pursed with his head bent back. "This was inevitable - said it yourself, remember?" Patrick's memory was far from perfect, but even he found that exchange difficult to forget. "You put it off though - Sorry for the dent in your wallet, by the way."

 

Patrick gave a ghost of a smile, cocking his head to the side he answered with "Don't mention it - I've had worse. A few of my friends are no longer on the invite list because of it." Pete's head perked up in interest, eyes glimmering with curiosity, he replied with "Oh?"

 

Smirking, Patrick casually dipped down onto the sofa, nodding his head. "I'm not gonna go into full detail, but let's just say my landlord wasn't too happy - I also had to pay for some broken windows." The drawn out whistle that left Pete's lips made Patrick's grin further widen. "Didn't know you were the party sort, officer Stump."

 

"I'm not, but my friends...Jesus, Mary and Joseph - they truly exhaust me," Patrick breathed, slumping back against the cushions positioned beneath him. "Mm," Pete hummed, eyelids fluttering shut. "I can relate. Honestly friends suck." Patrick's arm rose up as he airily muttered out "Amen," before his arm drooped back down to his side.

 

"Y'know you never mentioned whether you had eaten or not," Patrick suddenly recalled, casting a side look at the boy on the path to dozing off. "Hmm?" Pete piped up and cracked an eyelid open at the abrupt mention of food. Patrick hopped up and on to his pair of legs when he heard the faint rumbling of the teen's belly. Smile on his face still intact. "C'mon, I'll make dinner - only con being is that you have to help."

 

Pete groaned, and his stomach along with him. "Fine...least I can do." Patrick lent a hand to the boy, helping him upright and onto his feet, his smile grew even larger. "That's the spirit...So...Any allergies? What do you prefer?" Patrick asked as he led Pete to the kitchen, hand in hand. He didn't think much of it.

 

Pete shook his head. "Nope," he replied, short and curt. glancing down at their entangled fingers with widened eyes, their size almost comical. His expression hardening, he drove on with "Not that I know of, and...depends...What do you have?" Patrick in turn, shrugged at the question.

 

"Guess we'll just have to find out, won't we?"

 

  
***

 

After the meal, and all the oafish stumbling around the kitchen for ingredients, Patrick had made sure to supply Pete with as many pillows and blankets of that he could locate within his wee apartment. He had tried - keyword being _tried_ \- to offer his bed up to the boy, but Pete had refused, saying "You already offered me a place to stay - seriously your hospitality is a bit unnerving sometimes." Which in complete honestly is absolutely justified to say.

  
  
Once Patrick was done making sure Pete was as comfortable as he could be in a home that wasn't his to begin with, he had went to bed. Wrung out and exhausted, he slouched down into his blankets with a grunt of relief. This teen was definitely on the verge of deviating Patrick's hair from dirty blonde to gray at some point. His drift away was slow, but peaceful - his vision blurring and powdery, somewhat like snow on a winter's day.

 

Patrick's dreams were also profoundly grainy, obscure, and not the least bit memorable. When he awoke from his slumber, he expected to be slapping his palm against the snooze button of his alarm clock...not to a bellowing crow of "I _knew_ it!" Voice all too familiar. He tumbled out of his sheets and down the hall to where the voice was resonating from. The living room.

 

What Patrick saw made him bring a hand up to his forehead, frustrated, and even more so exhausted than he was when he went to sleep. The front door was swung open, swaying carelessly back and forth with Gabe stood there, a deep frown set in his face as his index finger pointed sharply at Pete. The poor teen appeared to be alarmed, eyes the size of dinner plates and a mouth open to match.

 

"What is this doing here?" Gabe questioned, his other hand planted and balanced upon the swell of his hip as he scowled at Patrick's groggy form. "Patrick," he pressed, jabbing the finger in Pete's direction, startling the younger boy in addition to his already terrified state. "Gabe calm down, alright? I can explain - "

 

"No, no, no - You can't just make up some ridiculous lie and then slip your way out of this," Gabe told him as he heavily shook his head. "How exactly are you gonna explain the half naked man nested in your apartment? Huh?" Given the circumstances, Patrick's eyes squinted, from fatigue of course, and confusion combined. He shifted to glance at Pete. Pete sheathed in a colossal T shirt that draped down to his knees. Patrick blinked at the sight before he spoke, words calm and smooth. "Just for the record...I didn't know he was half naked."

 

"Patrick," Gabe reiterated, accentuating his name with a miffed edge to his voice, frown even more so sunken in than before. "You so lied to me - _me!_   - Your bestest friend of all things!"

 

With an agitated sigh, Patrick knew this would be a challenging feat to explain.

 

It probably wasn't the brightest turn of events when he decided to begin with "Bestest isn't a word..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This honestly took me ages to write and I actually did end up taking a break for the sheer fact of me not wanting to force anything here. (I did end up forcing a bit) All in all I think it came out fairly well...Feedback is appreciated. <3
> 
> Might not update for a bit because I'm going to be in the hospital with my mom tomorrow. My grandma is getting surgery and I almost always wait in the hospital for her when she does. It makes me quite sad at how many times it has been. Anyway, yes I'll be at the hospital tomorrow, but I might still write either way. Here's another heart just for the fun of it. <3


	7. This is More Than I Bargained for

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I told you it was complicated, man..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically a drawn out talk between the infamous Gabe and poor ole little Patrick.
> 
> Enjoy~
> 
> Warning for a bit of dark humor to do with Pete's relationship with his father - jokes made by him, but either way I'm gonna put a warning.

Gabe's stale-like gaze bore into Patrick, a stonewall of an expression before a pebble snagged and his reserved stature crumbled. The skin of his face blanching into a sickly pale white as his features contorted into a gawk aimed at the younger of them both. The first words on the tip of his tongue being "What?"

 

"I told you it was complicated, man..." Patrick breathed a flimsy sigh, gaze shifting from Gabe to the door at the end of the hall. He had laid a gentle hand on Pete's shoulder, told him that maybe it would be best if he left Gabe and him alone to talk for a short while, so that he could explain more clearly...without distractions, of course. "Like... _really_  complicated."

 

"Well, excuse me for not expecting you to loan your house to strangers - you don't even let _me_  stay over," Gabe said, muttering the last words to himself while looping his arms over his chest in an affronted manner.

 

Patrick rolled eyes at the display, pondering over just when exactly they'd end up getting stuck that way, he replied "You do remember what happened the last time I did...? Right?" Gabe paused, tapping the tip of his finger against his chin before he nodded. "Right, right...Tell Margaret I said hi, by the way."

 

"I don't think she'd be too thrilled to hear from you - " Patrick began, before he doubled back, eyebrows creasing as he questioned Gabe with "Wait...why are you on a first-name basis with my landlord?" Gabe pushed his lips together, dipping his head to the side. Patrick was hit suddenly with the faint image of a fish before the taller man grinned, big and wide as he stood up taller.

 

"Because I care Patty, I care a lot," he said, planting a hand on the other cop's shoulder to which Patrick not so kindly slapped away. The older pouted at him, rubbing the wounded area of his index and middle finger and then snorted.

 

Patrick subtly cringed at the whiff of hot breath smacking him right in the face and creeping up and into his nostrils before engulfing his entire sense of smell. "Dude - gross, you reek of ash and...are you _drunk?_ "

 

"Was," Gabe answered, a crooked smile twisting onto his lips. "You missed some great shit - for real man, I think Trav accidentally got up and married to one of the - uh, dancers." Patrick resisted the urge to swat his own palm to his face. Inhaling deeply, he shook his head. "Well, he'll have a fantastic time filing for divorce papers then, won't he?"

 

"Dunno man, this girl had the ability to stick both fists up into her - " Interrupted by the shrill shriek of terror from Patrick, Gabe went on with a nonchalant bow of his neck, unfazed before he spoke with a dull voice as he asked "I'm falling off track here - why the fuck is an eighteen year old in your bedroom right now? - wait no, don't answer that." The saucy wink thrown towards him made Patrick release a blatant groan of crystal clear frustration.

 

"I fucking told you already - I - he doesn't have a place to stay right now...a safe place, at least," The last couple of words being a soft mumble beneath Patrick's breath. Gabe's eyebrows rose, slouching back into the chair his backside was parked in, before he bombarded Patrick with an array of questions."So...what? He's just going to live with you? For how long?"

 

"I don't know, Gabe," Patrick answered, words low as he scratched at the base of his neck, his mouth descending into a gentle frown. Gabe's forearms tightened around his midsection as he exhaled heavily. "You're way too -"

 

"Nice," Patrick finished, on the verge of banging his forehead against the wall only just two feet away from him. "I'm aware - I just, I don't even know the boy, but..." Gabe leaned in, cocking a brow. "But...?"

 

"I want to - get to know him, that is." Patrick tried to ignore the narrow of his friend's eyelids. The purse of his lips, and the furtive shift of his eyes, he really did, but his curiosity got the better of him. "What? No, really - what? Why the odd face?"

 

The curl of a smirk gave Patrick the longing to crack shiny white teeth, but puffing his chest out he repeated his words prior. "What the hell is it?" Gabe shrugged, his eyes bright - smiling the sort of smile Patrick usually hauled ass from. "You've got it bad, Stump - you're totally hard for this kid."

 

The blonde sputtered, mouth open in shock and ire, he then attempted to stammer his way through a response. Stumbling and tumbling over syllables he said "What the fuck? I - _Gabe?_ " The man in question nodded, a smirk radiating smugness still intact. Patrick felt the desire to punch, jab, and pummel, but resigning himself, he instead grumbled out "I'd really like to rip that stupid smirk straight off your stupid little face right about now."

 

...So his fighting words were next to nothing, but even so, they got the point across. Patrick had never striven to be a violent guy - not really one for blood and all that of the sort, but _Gabe_  - Gabe just didn't know when to _stop_  talking. "Do you honestly not have a brain to mouth filter, or some shit? Seriously, man..."

 

Gabe scoffed, combing a hand through his hair as he muttered, tone aloof. "Please - you can take that stick from your ass anytime stump." Patrick, just about to retort and voice his ever growing fury is interrupted by the gentle creek of a door and the piercing clear of a throat. Swerving around he came face to face with Pete - dressed in jeans that looked oddly similar to his - wait...

 

"Hope you don't mind, but I totally jacked a pair of your jeans - don't worry I'll give em back...I'm more into the tight fit, anyway." Patrick could've guessed that from the attire of last night. Those torn jeans appeared to be practically painted on - be that as it may...they looked nice... "No - I mean, that's fine, but I thought you brought clothes?"

 

"Ah...I brought shirts...? I left my one pair of pants in the living room and I didn't want to interrupt, so..." Pete quirked a stiff grin suddenly aware of the present of Gabe's eyes fixated on him. Said man let out a low whistle, glancing back up at Patrick he asked "Damn...who dropped the kid?"

 

Patrick without delay veered back around, glaring daggers he hissed "Holy shit, Gabe - " He's cut off by the abrupt snort of laughter from Pete. "How do you know my face doesn't always look like this?" Disregarding the "Ugh," from the younger cop, Gabe hummed in thought. "I guess...if blue and purple is all the rage nowadays..."

 

"Nope," Pete shook his head, a smirk curling upon his lips as he spoke with calm and easy words. "It's my own personalized look - It's called...get ready for it, 'daddy issues'." This kid was what Patrick's nightmares were made of - more so from the fact that his personality's got an uncanny resemblance to Gabe's. Luckily he's got some deferential features to his mannerisms...y'know, unlike Gabe.

 

Gabe's eyes crinkled as his body shook with choked up laughter before he slapped a hand to his knee. An enormous smile smacked right across his face, bright and wide. "Y'know Patrick, I think me and your little friend are gonna get along just fine."

 

Giving Gabe the stink eye, Patrick holding back a growl, breathed in a sotto voice. "Hands to yourself." He didn't know whether or not or could trust either of them at this point. Pete looked in between them, a humble grin set in place as he advanced to the front door. "All jokes and banter aside...I gotta go grab the rest of my shit - if that's cool with you...?"

 

Patrick's dug himself far too deep into this hole. He couldn't just all of a sudden kick this kid out onto the streets. He had a heart - discounting the mention of Gabe calling it stone-cold. Patrick and him had a hate-love relationship. Him being the hate and Gabe being the semi-love.

 

"Yeah, it's cool. Do you need any help...or...?"

 

"Nah, thanks for the offer though," Pete kindly declined with a flick of his wrist as he lugged open the door with his opposite hand. "Oh! Before I forget, awesome Bowie collection man - Low is everything," and then he was gone, out the door and into the hall once again.

 

Patrick blinked while Gabe let out a startled laugh - amazed. "Well...if you weren't in love before - "

 

"Gabe...I'm going to politely ask you to shut your mouth...Thanks."

 

The older cop sprung from his chair, hopping on both feet, he patted Patrick on the shoulder. "Alright man, Denial is a perfectly acceptable state of mind." Wondering whether or not prison would be worth it, Patrick groused his annoyance with inaudible words that sounded a whole lot like profanity.

 

"C'mon patty, I got a hankering for french toast and a craving for syrup only IHOP can cure!" Gabe crowed, before snatching Patrick by the arm and jerking him out of the front door with an eagerness that had the younger frightened for his life.

 

It only took him five seconds to recall with an abrupt and horrified realization. "Gabe - _fuck_ , wait! I'm not wearing pants!"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess this was a bit of a filler - developing Gabe's character more so and Patrick's - their relationship too, y'know just for the fun of it. I hope it made you laugh a bit, haha.


	8. Everybody Needs to be Held From Time to Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's completely innocent - quite and utterly innocent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been forever and a day since I've updated and I apologize greatly for the fact. Lemme just say this - Ima let you finish the chap, but school is torture and I know everyone can relate to that. For real.

The patter of Patrick's footsteps slid through his eardrums as he ran down the sidewalk - only shy of bumping into nearly every civilian he was passing by. The glare of the radiant street lights glimmered in his sight. He'd lost track of time. Gabe decided an innocent stroll through the nethermost of the town would be a good idea. Then again when were the older cop's ideas ever _good?_

Patrick - the unsuspecting and poor soul didn't think there'd be any ulterior motives. Which is why he'd be scurrying down the block with fingers scrunched tight over his hat at 6:35 pm - precisely, he checked. His expression brimming with knitted brows and his lips yanked downwards into a tight and fury-filled frown. It took one glance at his phone for him to take off, fleeing through the streets of Wilmette, Illinois with a Gabe Saporta calling after him.

 

Pete didn't give him a time...He didn't give Pete a key. The teen would be stuck on the streets - exactly what Patrick was trying to avoid. "Fuck, fuck - oh!" Patrick blurted, banging his shoulder into the brick and vine encrusted wall of the petite cafe near his building.

 

The wound to the shoulder occurred because he noticed Pete stood not too far away, a bag slung over his chest and dressed in a sporty attire that Patrick quirked a brow at. The teen was nodding his head at a boy, youthful in appearance with a curly head of hair. A soccer ball held within his fingers, Pete waved with an idle hand, the ghost of a simper set in place as the other boy shuffled off and into the bodies of pedestrians.

 

Patrick curled a palm around his shoulder, hissing in pain, he padded over to the teen with a bashful stance. "Pete - Hey! Ball? - I mean!" Pete veered to him with a turn of his neck before he giggled, his smile still intact. "Dude, chill. Where ya been?"

 

"Gabe Saporta is a monster." Is all he said, in a deep breath of a growl. He knew it was a tad bit his fault, but he had told the man that he needed to jet a million and one times. Gabe kept waving him off, telling him to chill out. "It's only been an hour," Patrick mentally mocked the older man in his head, his nose wrinkled and his lips pursed.

 

Pete's soft laughter crept into his ears, slowing his heart beat and clearing his mind for a brief moment so he could hear the reply of "Thought so...don't worry about it," the teen answered, hopping the ball within his palm before his eyebrows raised. "Oh! The ball - It's a soccer ball Patrick," Pete joked, poking him in the chest.

 

"I knew that," Patrick muttered, voice meek as he rubbed at the somewhat sore area. "Pretty pout." Before he could interrupt - protect his dignity because he definitely wasn't pouting, nor would he ever, Pete said "Once I realized Gabe probably kidnapped you - _or worse_ \- I decided to call up one of my buds and practice a bit." The gesture to the ball clearing up the confusion in Patrick's doleful and overtaxed brain.

 

"Oh...okay...so I'd assume you'd like to go inside..." Patrick held himself back from rolling his eyes at the stupidity of a response. Of course he'd like to go inside. He was waiting for fuck's sake. He resisted the urge to shake his head while Pete nodded with a toothy smile.

 

"Pete should smile for often," Patrick thought, before subtly grimacing. He always hated it when adults told him to smile more in his youth. He could still remember the response he'd give every time. "Well then it'll be fake, but fine," and then he'd flash the brightest and most irritating smile he could muster from within his somber teenage angst filled shell...Man...he'd still do that.

 

"Yeah. hoping I could use your shower?" Pete asked, tugging on the sweaty front of his tee while making a face. Patrick chuckled, striving to make it sound the least amount of forced that he could achieve. "Well...of course - it would be bad if I didn't let you shower...we're like roomies now so..."

 

"Roomies," Patrick mentally repeated back to himself, stretching the blink of an eye to wheeze to himself. God damn...he was a mess. "So it's official, huh?" Pete grinned and Patrick couldn't help but shrug. "It's your choice, really." In a way it was, he already agreed - either way his morals were overlapping.

 

Pete hummed, before rolling his eyes and skipping up the steps to the building. "It's your place, man." The sigh underlining Pete's voice made Patrick's head perk up. It is his place, yes. "I don't go back on my promises."

 

The boy spun around with narrowed eyes and smirk filled to the brim with a mischievous nature that made the cop's toes curl into the insoles of his shoes. "Sneaky...I don't remember any promises."

 

Patrick found himself smirking back as he replied "Our promise is now 'justice and all that.' Cool?" Pete gazed at him for a placid moment, the murmur of strangers surrounding them as he took in a deep breath and his former grin widened into a beam. Patrick getting the urge to squint his eyes from the bright sight, mirrored that same expression.

 

"Cool."

 

***

 

After a somewhat reserved night - excusing the call from Gabe, of course - Patrick is definitely not in love and he wished with every single centimeter of his 'cold and icy' organ of a heart that the older cop would just get over it already. He spent most of his evening sat on the couch with Pete, one of his guitars laid astray after the teen had noticed it with twinkling eyes and a look of awe.

 

"You play? - probably should've guessed from the stack of drums in your room - wait - how many instruments do you actually play?" Patrick's face had scrunched up in thought, thinking back to when he was a kid and music-crazed. He listed them off soft and concisely spoken.

 

"The fucking trumpet," the teen stared at him with an amazed air circled around him. His face practically glowing and Patrick could feel himself shift uncomfortably from the sudden attention placed upon him.

 

"I play - a bit...I mean, I'm not that great, but I can sort of play bass...or whatever," the boy mumbled, picking at the cotton fabric of his shirt. Nervous in his actions as he shrugged and slumped his shoulders with his eyes locked onto the screen of the television. "If you play...you play," Patrick said underneath his breath, swaying the heel of his foot back and forth, his own view stuck on pixels.

 

"You must get all the ladies with smooth lines like that...upping their confidence..." Patrick snorted into his palm, holding back a chuckle he nodded. "Oh yeah! My gorgeous girlfriend," he announced, gesturing to the vacant space of air in front of him. "Oh wait...besides I bat for both teams."

 

Aware of the teens gaze on him slowly but surely becoming stolid, Patrick flicked his watch from the TV to the boy sat with legs criss-crossed next to him. "You...you're into dudes? Too - I mean..." It only took the older a few stilled seconds to realize just how important his next couple of words might be. "Um...I - yeah? I don't really have a preference."

 

"Oh," voice thin and silky smooth as the boy leaned back into the few pillow cushions layering the sofa. Expression deadpan and the other quite and thoroughly confused, but understanding at the same time. "Okay." That's how most of their conversation ended. Not because Patrick said anything wrong, but because they didn't feel the need for unnecessary chatter.

 

So curled up upon the mattress of his bed he was. Eye's drooped close and his mouth slack. Ears barely detecting the minuscule creak come forth from his doorway. All that came out of him was an inquiring groan. He was seemingly unperturbed from the sliver of light penetrating the darkness of his room.

 

Hardly awake until he felt a firmness press against his shoulder-blades and his eyelids cracked open. Startled, he twisted around to see Pete coiled around him, body a near tremble and facial demeanor troubled, maybe...possibly even scared.

 

"Pfet? what're ya doin'?" Patrick's voice came out in a slur as he squinted in the boy's direction. His head tilted and his hair unkempt, stuck up in several differing directions. "M'sorry - had a nightmare and don't really know how to deal with it...don't wanna be alone..."

 

"Hey, hey," Patrick spoke, tone gentle as he placed his palms over the shaky ones of the younger. "It's okay...do you - would you like to talk about it?" Pete with a frown on his face, swiftly shook his head before pressing his nose against the older's neck. He inhaled an unsteady breath. "No...no - I - I don't think I can...not right now."

 

"Okay...that's okay...Ehm..." Feeling the slightest bit uncomfortable - this isn't his first rodeo with cuddling or _comfort_ cuddling, but he's never been a fan of being the little spoon. A lot of people see that as ironic because of his small stature, but he's a mean big spoon and nobody's ever told him otherwise. Not to say he didn't like being held...he just didn't like the heat that came with it, or the confined nature.

 

"Patrick?" The timid voice of Pete snapped Patrick out of his thoughts. "Mm?" A questioning hum left the back of his throat as his eyelids began to slouch. "Do y'think we could like - I dunno...reverse? Uhm..." Without a second thought Patrick maneuvered himself, wreathing and squirming until he faced the teen with a lazy smile slapped onto his face. "No problem."

 

The thoughts in his head swarming in his brain like rabid bats as he hooked his chin over the curve of Pete's shoulder. Inappropriate, Inappropriate, _Inappropriate_ , but also it's completely innocent - quite and utterly innocent.  So he bit his tongue, tensed his jaw, and closed his eyes. Looping his arms around Pete's middle once the other flipped onto his opposite side. The teen sighed airily in response and Patrick felt a little bit more at ease.

 

"G'night."

 

"Thank you."

 

 _Innocent_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Single tear- it only took eight chapters, but I threw a bone...not saying you guys are dogs, but if you were you'd be the cutest dogs ever. (all dogs are cute) Why would dogs be reading this, though? 
> 
> Hmm...


	9. It Seems There's Been A Mistake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, it's been awhile - like, a pretty long time, and I suck. The only excuse I have is personal issues, but hopefully this chapter makes up for it a bit. That is, if anyone actually likes this story...  
>  
> 
> Although, things are starting to get a little bit complicated...
> 
>  
> 
> ;)))

They didn't talk about it. The snuggling, the cuddling. Body to body - Skin to skin. Whatever you want to call it. It wasn't a discussion...but Patrick thought about it. Still pondered whether or not it'd be considered odd...well of course it was strange. It had been a month. Well, not exactly, but almost. Twenty seven days. The number temporarily engraved into the back of his brain – burning, searing. Not necessarily pain, but…Agonizingly slow, albeit increasing. Being uneventful, but at the same time memorable.

 

It was quiet - too quiet - but at the same time it wasn't. It was unnerving. He was confused, yet aware. At peace, but constantly in a flight or fight stage. He felt as if his life was turning into a soap opera. It was one surprise after another. Gabe showing up at his doorstep every other day - just to make sure he was still sane. This week though...has been okay. Normal? Not normal precisely. Was it unusual? Yes. However...it had been less unusual than what he had been becoming accustomed to…

 

He has been learning to deal with it. Deal with the fact that he's no longer alone. He wasn't sure whether or not he should be glad or disturbed by that. In truth he wasn't ever completely and absolutely alone. He had Gabe. No matter how many times he had voiced his distaste for such. Sure the man was a handful, but Patrick could never truly hate the guy.

 

While he uttered his constant annoyance for the several times the taller man had gotten him into unsought trouble, he turned a blind eye at it in the end. Buried the hatchet although he knew Gabe would've "accidentally" dug it up all the while hollering at Patrick about how he'd discovered hidden treasure along with it.

 

"Treasure my ass," Patrick simmered, taking a steaming gulp of his safe haven; morning caffeine. It was the only thing that kept him going strong. Well as strong as someone can be with the regime of sleep three hours a night. He still dealt with the chance of Pete appearing in front of his wary eyes while he was cocooned in warm blankets, barely awake, but enough to notice watery browns.

 

Pete apologized every time. His hands held behind his back, fingers entangled, while he chewed at his bottom lip. Every time - every single time, Patrick shook his head. Didn't say a word, but opened his arms. He was expectant of the light weight of the teen to slam into his chest. A soft and warm body to fill his arms. He swore he could almost feel the soft movement of lips against his shoulder, mouthing the word sorry.

 

Patrick was never mad, although a tad bit irritated from the lack of sleep. Mostly he was always curious however; he never pushed for an explanation. He was far too exhausted to do the shoving. After all he knew better. If he did he'd only end up with an angry teenager wriggling in his grasp and that's the last thing he needed. Last thing he wanted.

 

"Maybe...maybe he should talk to Pete," Patrick thought, right before he shook his head, his mouth forming a frown around a mammoth mouthful of toast. "No," he told himself. "It's not even that big of a deal - a minor issue." A difficult gulp of stodgy brown bread down his throat later, his face went stern and his jaw clenched. "It's only happened - like, a couple of times," he muttered, tone aloof. "Stranger things have happened..."

 

Is what Patrick continued to tell himself as stood up from his chair, grabbed his coat, and walked out of the front door, key in hand. He, himself, wasn’t even prepared for what was to come when nightfall came. The sky was a pleasant shade of blue, blunt, and encouraging. Yet, it did nothing to relieve the stimulation of a tightened fist constricted around his stomach. There wasn’t a blemish in sight. Too bad Patrick’s mind was all but dreary clouds of thought at the moment.

 

So, sat at his desk, Patrick leaned back, closed his eyes, and sighed. Right before his shoulders jumped at the subtle sound of a throat being cleared. Looking down, he saw the two men that made quite the effort in order to make his life a living hell.

 

“My, my…Don’t you look exhausted,” Travie noted, shaking his head from side to side.  A feigned look of disappointment on his face before a smirk curled upon his lips as he spoke his next few syllables. “Heard you’ve got jailbait housing with you…what’s that about?” From his side, Gabe snorted beneath a flattened palm in an attempt to stifle his not so silent giggle.

 

“My, my,” Patrick started, mocking the other with wide eyes. “I don’t know…How’s the married life, cap’n?” Dismissing the “Oooh,” breathed from Gabe’s direction, Travie raised an eyebrow. “Ah…touché little man, touché.” It took all but two seconds before the two had matching grins.

 

Patrick hummed and gave a shrug as he muttered “Technically he’s not jailbait…considering the fact that he’s eighteen and everything.” His tone was hesitant, his brain voicing snide comments such as “As if that somehow made it okay.”

 

“And technically a ring pop isn’t considered a legal marriage registration, but idiots still seem to get the wrong idea,” Travie grumbled, his arms crossed all the while glaring daggers at Gabe from his peripheral vision. “You’re the one who thought shots were a good idea,” Gabe replied, tone light and almost disinterested as he cocked his head to the side with his eyes half-lidded. “Don’t remind me,” Travie bit back with a growl.

 

“Seems there’s trouble in paradise…? What a shame to see the idiot duo all cooped up in flames…” Both the men gave choked breaths in response before they both yelled in unison “Hey!” Gabe scoffed for a moment, and then a not so comforting grin enveloped the lower half of his face. So wide, the younger felt quite unnerved at the sight. “…So, Patrick,” he said, planting his bottom flush on the edge of the desk. “…Have you…done it?”

 

“Uh…Done what?” Gabe’s eyelids dropped closed as he groaned in irritation. “It, man…It!” Patrick stared blankly at the other for a full ten seconds before he answered with “’It,’ isn’t very specific.” He had a bad feeling about just what ‘it’ was. Understanding Gabe was definitely the hardest challenge he had yet to overcome.

 

“Oh my god – did you do the lust and the thrust? Make the mattress dance?” Patrick’s mouth dropped open in order to reply, unfortunately he’s cut off by Gabe and his terribly, horrendous, and inappropriate words. “The bit of the ole’ in and out?” Gabe’s mouth quirked up into a devilish grin as he hissed in a loud whisper “Fornicate…y’know…”

 

At this moment all Patrick could do was blink in shock. Gabe rolled his eyes, muttering minor curses beneath his breath before he barked out “Did you stick your peni –“ Thankfully Travie put a stop to that atrocity of a sentence, slapping a hand to Gabe’s slack mouth, he turned to the other cop. “He’s trying to ask whether or not you had sexual intercourse with the younger man staying in your home.”

 

…And to think Patrick thought the sky was blunt. His first instinct was to sputter. His heartbeat was pulsing in his chest as he choked on his own saliva. “Are you both insane?! What kind of questio – “

 

“Excuse me, but as your best fri – “Travie quickly interjected with “You aren’t his best friend.” Gabe huffed and puffed a heated breath before he continued in a much more powerful voice. “ _As his best friend,_ ” eyes narrowing at Travie, he continued. “I believe I have a right to know this information.”

 

“Of course he hasn’t,” Travie told Gabe with a wrinkled nose. “This is Patrick we’re talking about…besides,” He leered at Patrick with once again another dark smirk. “He doesn’t have the balls.” All is silent until a boisterous snort left Gabe. “Ouch, man – that _hurt_ me.”

 

“I have a hard time deciding whether you two are actually my friends or not,” Patrick rasped, sinking deep into the seat of his leather chair. Both of the cops sent shrugs at his whist comment. “We have a hard time deciding whether or not you think of us as friends,” Travie replied with a frown.

 

“Touché Travie, touché.”

 

 

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

 

With a heavy sigh, Patrick kicked the front door shut with a loud thump. With a strikingly ordinary day, he hadn’t felt too beat up. Taking in a deep breath, he called out. “Pete!” With no response, he crossed the living room, shrugging off his coat in the process and plopping it onto the couch. “Ya here?” Still lacking a response, he tilted his head with a furrowed brow. 

 

That is, until Patrick heard a slight clatter in the direction of the kitchen. Taking puny steps with only a microscopic fraction of his might, he took a hesitant peek into said room. His eyes widened when his sight only met him with flour bathed counters and a lean boy, fixed with a sheepish smile.

 

Treading into the room with a frown firm on his face, Patrick started. “Pete…” A tight smile and squinting eyes to match, the young man in question nodded his head. “Patrick…?” His tone was small and tentative. “May I ask…why does it look like a ghost blew up in my kitchen?” Maybe in the future this would be considered hilarious, but right then all Patrick could focus on was the slight ache and pain in his lower back.

 

“Oh...Forgot to call ghost busters…?” Patrick gritted his teeth with his arms crossed over his chest. “This isn’t funny,” he said in a stern voice. Closing his eyes for a brief moment before they reopened, he shot a glance at Pete. With melded fingers and a chewed bottom lip, Patrick relented. “Look, just…clean this up, alright?”

 

Pete gave off a puzzled expression before he nodded once again. “Yes – I mean, of course I will.” With that out of the way Patrick noticed a light white dusted across Pete’s cheeks. “Hey – you got a little something,” at the even more so bewildered look on Pete’s face, Patrick shook his head. “Here.” Holding his arm up somewhat, he used his sleeve to gently wipe the flour from the younger’s scrunched up face.

 

“Ah, there – all gone.” His lips curved into a warm smile that Pete mimicked right before steps could be heard from the other room. “Oh! Uh, Patrick, I forgot to mention – “Pete babbled, but then a middle aged woman walked into the kitchen. “Patrick!”

 

Patrick might’ve just been overreacting at this point, but he was fairly certain that his heart had officially stopped beating…because this woman…well, this woman was his mother. “Mom,” he greeted, his tone was unintentionally solid and a tinsy bit icy. His face felt stiff as he was stood frozen for a few more moments with his arm still outstretched, he cleared his throat. “What are you doing? – Here, I mean.”

 

“Oh, well I came to visit, of course,” with a soft smile, she eyed the close proximity of the two before Patrick pulled back. He watched his mother as she shook her head, clucking her tongue. “Now, now – don’t mind me…Although, you could’ve at least thought to mention it to me.”

 

Patrick bit at his lip, a surge a guilt flowing through his gut that only his mother knew how to evoke. “I’m sorry…I just didn’t really know how to tell – mom?” Before he knew it, his mother was taking smooth strides with clicking heels across the tile and over to them. With a silent intake of breath from Pete, she was pinching at his cheek. “And isn’t he quite the catch, too? – I was just teaching him how to make my famous pumpkin squares!”

 

Well, that explained the mess. “Oh, okay…” Patrick shot an accusing look at Pete – whether or not he was in distress over the long nails digging into his cheek, the cop didn’t care all that much. “…Why?” His mother rolled her eyes, retracting her hand away from Pete’s not so innocent face; she said “Well, dear, he’s your boyfriend isn’t he? He should at least know how to bake one of your favorites.”

 

The gears in Patrick’s brain have stopped turning, too coated in rust to gyrate. He stood still for exactly four seconds before he took a long blink. Eyes reverted back to Pete, a look more serious than the last, he opened his mouth.

 

“Could you…perhaps...repeat that first part?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;;;)))


	10. Fake It 'Til You Make It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW.
> 
> Oh my god I know...I've been awful, absolutely awful. It's ridiculous. I've lost almost all passion to do anything for these past months. School work totally hasn't helped as I'm being drowned in it lol. Also heartbreak tagged along. Enough with my own excuses. I've been a shitty person at these updates, I know, I know. This chapter ain't even that magical. Honestly I've been adding to it over the months as I've had writer's block. I hope you enjoy it anyway haha.
> 
> Sigh...I need to update my other stories too...
> 
> ~Kill meee~

"He's your boyfriend...?" His mother's quirked brow and the small frown of her lightly colored lips were only telling him so much. Her bemused build snapped to concern at breakneck speed, Patrick's head almost felt dizzy.

 

"Oh! Honey you look rather pale," His blanched appearance suddenly striking to all eyes able to lay their eyes on it. His own eyes were half-lidded and his mouth lax while his mother clucked her tongue, shaking her head.

 

"Are you coming down with a cold? You never tell me anything anymore..." The last few words were somewhat strained as she scolded him with partly narrowed eyes.

 

Guilt started clenching at the heart in Patrick's heavy thumping chest once again, but that's to be expected when his mother decided to spontaneously drop in. "I'm n-not ill, I'm – " he paused for a brief moment, before he turned his gaze onto Pete. The same shamefaced expression fixed on his face from when his mother walked through the door. "Mother – I...can you give Pete and me a moment to speak...alone."

 

Patrick felt quite relieved when the only backlash he received was a quick shot of slight suspicion before she turned heel, nodding her head. "Of course...you two love birds," she laughed a hearty chuckle while he sputtered in return. A few seconds went by as he made sure his mother was out of hearing distance. The leisure click of her heels gradually dying down into air as he not so subtly glared at Pete.

 

"Explain," is all Patrick said with his eyes lit like tiny little flames ready to detonate at any given moment. When all Pete did was stutter out a few measly words, the cop huffed a gruff growl. "Explain." His patience was thinning while his temper was rising. Fingers dug into the center of his palms deep and painful as he chewed at his bottom lip.

 

"Well...for starters... your mother seems nice." Before Patrick could scream bloody murder, alerting his mother and the whole goddamn block containing his flat, Pete quickly continued with "It was a surprise – I – needed an explanation...I panicked."

 

"You panicked," Patrick repeated in a voice so low, almost he couldn't hear it. Pete gave a brief, but tentative nod. The cop's eyes were piercing, his heartbeat pounding within his ears as his fingers clenched once again.

 

"You panicked?!" The words were a hushed hiss of fury as Patrick's entire body heaved forward with a harsh breath of air. "I can't believe you – oh my god," he groaned, turning around, back to Pete's front as he raked a hand through his mussed hair.

 

Patrick's eyes closed shut as he felt a sudden rush of nausea go through him. With his stomach quivering, he swore he could taste the bile building up in the back of his aching throat. He knew he was overreacting – oh god – he knew. Be that as it may, he couldn't help it. He couldn't help the sudden vigor igniting his nerves aflame. His eyelids cracked open when he felt a soft, but firm palm gently curl around his shoulder.

 

"Look...I'll explain everything. Just – "Pete began with a determined glint in his eyes to fix what he'd done. "Duct tape fixes everything," the teen had once said. This situation involved a butchered drum head, a cracked hairbrush, and a broken Gabe. However, that's a story for another time. Patrick felt a spark of amusement at the thought of Pete attempting to decorate his mother in duct tape.

 

"No," Patrick immediately replied with a gruff voice. "I'll do it." He bit his lip with darkened eyes cast to the floor as his foot began to tap to the erratic rhythm of his heartbeat. "I don't...need any more complications," cringing at the harshness of his words, Patrick tried to smooth it over with a few extra more. "My mom...tends to be quite the daydreamer."

 

"Haha..ha..ha." Fake laugh or not, at least the smile was genuine. Feeling mollified, Patrick shook himself with a heavy breath. "I should go talk to her." Pete stared at him with furrowed brows, Concern shimmering within his big brown eyes. Patrick took a sore gulp and narrowed his eyes while muttering "Don't look at me like that...I'll be fine. It's not like I'm going into battle." He couldn't deny the fact that it certainly felt that way.

 

Patrick ground his teeth shut, his mouth a thin line as he took a step backward...and then another...and then...

 

"Good luck in there soldier," Pete said as he raised his right hand in order to salute. Patrick felt a rush of affection fill his chest, but the feeling was pushed away by the overwhelming dread.

 

Patrick shook his head, as he needed to keep up appearances. Glaring with hardened eyes, he spun around. "Why are you like this?" It was a question said in a hushed voice, but he still heard the smothered snicker of the amused teen. He held back a growl and left the kitchen with thundering steps.

Patrick's raging steps and confidence diminished with the flick of a wrist at the picture of his mother. Sat on his couch, there she was, eyeing up his living space with skeptical eyes. With this image in mind, his heels gingerly decreased.

 

"Oh! Patrick," she smiled, bright and shiny. The cop felt queasy at the sight. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Only silence filled the air until his mother's brow furrowed and she gave a firm frown.

 

"Now, this room is rather dusty don't you think and this carpet! The rest is lost within the hollow expanse of his brain when he realized she was lecturing him. The only thoughts he had left was a lengthy monologue of the words carpet and crumbs.

 

Patrick's lost in space until his mother snaps her fingers in front of his eyes and a jump floods through his shoulders. His stomach shuddered at the glance of his mother's pursed lips. He felt faint, his skin as white as a sheet with his eyes wide and wild.

 

"M-mom I need to tell – " He was immediately cut off when his mother sighed with a sickly sweet grin. Vomiting tonight might just be on the table if he continued to play his cards horribly wrong.

 

"Oh, Patrick, sweetheart, I'm just so happy...I was always worried." Patrick gave her a confused glance, his teeth ground together. "I was worried whether you'd find someone or not!" His mother shook her head as she muttered "You've always kept to yourself and you were just so quiet..." The answer is like a knife through his heart. Before he could muster up a response, arms hooked over his shoulders and his mother was pressed to him. She was hugging him.

 

With a heavy exhale of happiness, his mother pulled back to flash him a pout as she scolded him "I'm still absolutely, positively upset you didn't bother to mention it to me, but...I'm glad." All he could do was gawk. His lips kept tight into a thin frown.

 

It was almost as if Patrick had lost all sense as he let loose a forced chuckle. This was stupid, so utterly stupid.

 

He had to tell her the truth.

 

He was going to tell her the truth.

 

"Well, mom...it surprised me too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


End file.
